


did you ever love her? do you know?

by MANIAvinyl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crying, Depression, Divorce/Breakup, Hurt/Comfort, It ends okay tho! promise, M/M, Mentions of Suicide Attempt, Other, Post-Divorce, mental health, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 12:02:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13833882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MANIAvinyl/pseuds/MANIAvinyl
Summary: “I feel helpless,” Pete said, sinking into the crease in the couch, like maybe it would open up and devour him so that he could stop talking for once in his damned life.Because that’s all he ever does, right? Talk and talk and talk, about the girl who he thought he was supposed to love, about his band that once was but something seemed to fall apart along the way, and about the best friend that never seemed to be around.





	did you ever love her? do you know?

**Author's Note:**

> the dialogue is a little inconsistent but I’m too tired to fix it. oh well. anyways! enjoy my sad mid-history-class writing.

“I feel helpless,” Pete said, sinking into the crease in the couch, like maybe it would open up and devour him so that he could stop talking for once in his damned life.

“Elaborate on that,” the doctor said, and internally, Pete rolled his eyes. Helplessness really isn’t that hard to understand.

“Like I’m trapped, under the floorboards or something, and I can’t move or do anything.”

“Under the floorboards?” he seemed skeptical. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“What could the floorboards be representing in your life, that’s holding you down?”

Pete groaned inside — that’s not what he meant. This guy just took what he said literally and ran with it.

“No, nothing like that — okay, another analogy. I’m in a car, speeding down a hill towards The Big Great Nothing, and I can’t find the brakes. It’s that kind of helpless.”

“And what’s making you feel this way?”

God, he really was clueless. Even Patrick was better than this, even though he was clueless, too. At least Patrick thought about what he said.

“Not being able to find the brakes,” Pete said impatiently. 

“I meant in your life, not the analogy.”

“Damnit, I don’t know!” Pete snapped. “That’s why I’m here.”

That’s how most appointments went — most doctors tried, but none could get to Pete like he really needed. Only Patrick could do that, but God knows where he is these days.

Travie tried, too, and Pete appreciated that but it was Patrick he needed, he just couldn’t bring himself to call. 

He flopped down on the couch once he got home, legs kicked up on the armrest, and shut his eyes. 

“How was it?” asked Travie, and Pete groaned.

“Like the rest,” Pete said. “Clueless.”

“I’m clueless,” Travie pointed out. 

“Well, yeah, but you help in a different way,” Pete sighed. “You’re like, my cuddle pillow.”

“That sounded weird.”

“Yeah, it did. Whatever, you know what I meant.”

Travie laughed. 

Then, “Worse than the last guy?” he asked, on a serious note. Pete nodded.

“He wasn’t gonna work anyways.”

“Hey, Pete, keep your head up,” Travie murmured. “We’ll figure you out. I’ll be here ‘til you get back on your feet.”

Pete smiled softly. “Thanks.” he looked up. “Did Patrick call?”

“No.”

“I heard he went back to Chicago for a week.”

“Did he?” Travie murmured. 

“Yeah.”

“So you’ve talked to him?”

Pete hesitated. “No, I saw on his twitter.” he said softly, and Travie nodded.

“You should call him.”

Pete sighed. “I don’t know. He’s busy.”

“Not that busy. He’ll talk to you.”

“Maybe,” Pete whispered, biting his lip. It wasn’t just that Patrick was busy, though. It was more that Pete was afraid that Patrick wasn’t thinking of him and really, he didn’t want to know if that was true. He’d rather be ignorant. 

“Just because he hasn’t called doesn’t mean he’s not worried, you know,” Travie told him, as if reading his mind. “You know how Patrick is.”

Pete laughed quietly. “He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah. Sometimes. Did you take your meds yet?”

“No.”

“Take them,” Travie sighed. “Then go to bed. You need the sleep.”

—

Nights were especially bad, especially without a warm body next to Pete. He would ask to sleep in Travie’s bed with him but he figured he probably wouldn’t appreciate that. Besides, Travie wasn’t Patrick. 

The worst part of this whole thing was he didn’t know if he missed her, or just missed not being alone. That made him a bad person, didn’t it?

The cracked gray paint on the ceiling reminded him a little too much of the tour buses they used to use as a band. 

Alone. Alone. Alone. The word bounced inside his head and he felt guilty, because Travie was here, Travie cared, but he still couldn’t make Pete feel it any less.

Only Patrick could do that. 

He was so sick of being alone. He was sick of missing the woman that used to love him, and he was sick of missing his best friends.

On impulse he dialed Patrick’s number, punching in the digits like a natural reflex and pushed the phone against his ear as it rang. 

Patrick answered with a soft sigh.

“Pete, do you know how late it is?”

“Um. No, how late is it?”

“Like, two,” Patrick muttered. “You’re lucky I’m still up.”

“You’re always up late.”

“That’s fair,” admitted Patrick. “Anyways. Why’d you call?”

Now that, Pete thought, was a good question. 

“‘m not feeling good,” he said.

“You sick?”

“Heartsick.”

Patrick laughed. “Oh.” then, “Isn’t Travie there?”

“Yeah. For real, ‘trick, my brain hurts.” Pete sighed, and he could hear Patrick get serious quick. 

“What’s up — you can talk to me, you know,” he offered softly.

“I dunno. I feel — isolated,” Pete said, flopping back on his bed. “nobody can reach me. I’m like, flying up in the sky and nobody can reach me.”

“Can you come back down?” Patrick asked, playing along with the analogy. “Maybe just a little bit, so I can reach you?”

“I can try,” Pete grinned. 

“Good. Now, are you seeing a doctor?”

Pete let out a shattered laugh. “I’ve seen like, four in the past month. They can’t get to me either — I’m untouchable.”

“Keep looking,” Patrick murmured. “You’re one of the most complicated people I know, so I’m not surprised none have got you yet.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ll find one, though, then you can actually start to get better.”

“Why have you been away for so long?” Pete sighed. 

“It’s been three months. And we text.”

“Still too long.”

“I guess. Coffee? Tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Get some sleep, yeah?” Patrick’s voice was soft, gentle and croaky like he had always remembered if being.

“Yeah.” they hung up and Pete fell asleep a little less sad than the last night.

—

“Pete! You got dressed!” Travie said, eyes lighting up as Pete walked into the kitchen. 

It wasn’t much — a black bomber jacket, and jeans and a white t-shirt but it was something, more than the pajamas he’d been wearing for weeks on end.

“I — uh, yeah.” Pete scratched the back of his head.

“And a shower?!” Travie stood up. “This is good, this is — this is progress.”

“I know, I know,” Pete said. “I’m meeting Patrick today.”

Travie grinned. “Good, if someone can fix you, he can.”

Pete figured that was probably the closest thing to the truth that anyone’s ever said. 

—

Patrick was already there when Pete arrived, sitting quietly at a booth in the garden. He was wearing a denim jacket and a gray baseball cap and sipping a dark roast coffee.

He stood up when he saw Pete, pulling him into a tight, coffee-and-patrick-scented hug. 

“Missed you,” Patrick said softly, sitting down. Pete smiled. 

“Me too.”

“God, you sounded so sad on the phone,” Patrick sighed, stirring his coffee. “Are you really that sad?”

Pete chuckled. “I dunno. Do I sound that sad?”

“Sorta. You gonna order?”

“Yeah, eventually.”

“Sorry I wasn’t around when it happened,” Patrick apologized quietly. “I should’ve been.”

“‘s okay, Travie was there. He watched over me.” Pete shrugged.

Patrick nodded, then there was a pause as both collected themselves enough. 

“I’m gonna tell you something I’ve told every therapist I’ve seen in the past few months, that none could connect to,” Pete told him, sitting back. Patrick looked up in surprise.

“Okay?”

“None of them could get me right. They all got me in the wrong light.”

“Fine. What is it?”

“I feel helpless.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. Helpless. I can’t do anything about anything.”

Patrick stared at Pete for a while, studied him for a moment.

“Pete, what do you want me to do? Why are you telling me this?”

Pete shrugged. “I wanna hear what you have to say. I think you know me better than I know me.”

Patrick’s face broke into a grin like he was about to laugh, but he didn’t. “That may be true,” he said, “But you’re gonna have to give me more direction here.”

Pete rested his arms on the table. “This is map-less,” he said. “Go anywhere.”

“Pete, you know I’m no good at this.”

“Wrong. You know, anything you say is gonna help. So just say something.”

“Is me arguing with you helping?” 

“A little bit,” Pete admitted.

“Pete, I’m not going to give you advice because if I do, you’ll take it and run with it, and you know it. It won’t help you, it’ll only hurt you,” Patrick said gently, and Pete frowned.

“I’m not asking for advice. Advice is what acquaintances give,” Pete said. “And we’re not acquaintances. I’m asking for you to respond.”

Patrick thought about that for a while, watching Pete’s hands fiddle with his menu. He still hasn’t ordered. 

“I think there’s a difference between feeling helpless and a state of helplessness,” Patrick said slowly. “Which one are you in?”

Pete blinked. That’s wasn’t what he was expecting, but then again, Patrick was never what he was expecting. That’s probably what he liked most about him.

“State of helplessness,” Pete decided. “It’s like, I’m stuck in one spot, and I’m watching the world move around me but I can’t do anything about it.”

Patrick nodded. “Like a ghost,” he whispered, and Pete looked up.

Yeah, Pete thought, exactly like a ghost. 

Pete ordered, a venti mocha latte like he always does.

They talked about everything and nothing until the sun was high in the sky, but it felt like no time had passed. That’s how Patrick could make Pete feel — weightless, like something’s been lifted. 

But Patrick seemed nervous now, like he could finally tell exactly what kind of shape Pete was in. 

When Pete left, Patrick called Travie. He sat in the driver’s seat of his car, staring at the flickering lights at the top of the cafe as the sun shone brightly from behind the clouds. The clock read two. 

“Yeah?” said Travie, kind of muffled by the static airwaves. 

“Hey, it’s Patrick.”

“I know, I have your number saved.”

“Right. Anyways. Please — look after Pete for me. He’s a total wreck, for real, and the last time I’ve seen him this bad was five years ago.”

Travie knows what five years ago was without having to say it out loud. None of Pete’s friends liked to say it out loud. 

“I _have_ been, actually,” he said. “Looking out for him, I mean.”

“Well, I know—“

“I was here when you _weren’t_ here.” Travie’s voice was turning cold and Patrick stiffened. “He needed you, more than anyone else, Patrick.”

“Stop,” Patrick whispered weakly. 

“No, I’m going to tell you this because no one else will. You were a coward, okay? You ran.” Travie didn’t sound mad, though, he just sounded cold. There’s a difference between cold and angry. “Did you know he tried to kill himself again? No, you didn’t. Because you weren’t there.”

Patrick’s blood ran cold. “He _what_?”

“He tried to take his own life a month or two ago. There’s a scar, somewhere on his left arm — I got him before he got too deep.”

A tear tracked its way down Patrick’s cheek. Guilt burned a raging fire inside his chest.

“Does he ask for me?” Patrick whispered.

Travie could tell he had gotten to Patrick, he’d done what he had needed to and it was time to give him some slack.

He hesitated, voice getting softer as he answered. “Yeah, all the time.”

Patrick lifted his hand to his mouth as he shut his eyes tight. He should’ve called, he should have done _something_ , rather than nothing. Rather than the few texts they had sent each other.

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Patrick whispered. 

“Tell him yourself.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re coming over, aren’t you? You’re staying with us?”

“I’m—“ an idiot ass fuck face, Patrick wanted to say. 

—

He arrived the next day, at the front doors of Pete’s big Young Hollywood home, with the fountain in the middle of the driveway and an aerial view of LA. 

He had sent Pete a text the night before, which had been left on read until two hours later, with only an ‘okay!’. 

He knocked once and the door opened almost instantly, like Pete had been waiting for him. Immediately he was engulfed in a pair of tanned arms and Patrick took a minute before he hugged back.

“We saw each other yesterday,” Patrick mumbled. 

“Yeah, but like, you’re like a drug. I’ve got a little bit, and now I want more.”

“That sounds creepy.”

“Whatever. Oh! Come say hi to Travie.”

Patrick looked up, and the six-foot-whatever Travis McCoy stood in the doorway, with enough of a smile so that Pete would be satisfied but enough of that glint the gave Patrick the shivers. 

“Patrick,” Travie greeted. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Patrick sighed. “Tired.”

“So are we,” he replied, and Patrick winced. 

Travie left later that day, for some recording appointment or something, so it was just Pete and Patrick, sitting around the house like it was the good old days but something was off.

Patrick could tell Pete was a little sadder today. He just didn’t know why.

“What’s up, buddy?” Patrick asked from the patio table, the one with the stained glass. Pete was sitting on the floor, up against the concrete wall, looking out at the big city of LA. 

The house was on a hill, so from this angle he could just see the tall buildings of downtown, just over the slope, hazy with city smog. The sun had just set so a twilight glow was cast over the west like some sort of spell, flooding the city purple.

“Nothin’.” Pete mumbled, not looking up. Patrick sighed. 

“You know, you’re not very good at hiding how sad you are.”

“I’m not sad,” Pete said. “I’m tired.”

“That’s not gonna work on me.”

Pete cracked a bitter smile. “I know.”

Patrick bit his lip and sat down next to Pete, but didn’t say anything and Pete rolled up his sleeve on his left arm.

“Travie already told you, didn’t he?” Pete asked softly. Patrick nodded, running his fingers over the scarred flesh just below Pete’s elbow. Travie was right, it wasn’t deep, or long, but it was there. It was a reminder.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick whispered. Guilt clawed at his insides until he couldn’t take it, and he shut his eyes tight. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry,” he choked.

“Stop, stop, it wasn’t your fault,” Pete whispered. 

“I should have fucking been here — Travie was right, I was a coward,” forced Patrick. 

“It’s okay — I’m okay,” Pete said softly, reaching out. 

“No, I fucking ran — I saw you, hurting, and I ran.” Patrick pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I thought that if I left, whatever happened five years ago wouldn’t happen again but — I —“

“It’s not your fault,” Pete repeated. “Please — I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay, Pete, you’re about two seconds from falling off the deep end.”

“Thanks.”

“You know it’s true.”

“Yeah, I know. But still, I survived.”

Patrick grinned tiredly. “That you did. I’m still sorry, though. That I wasn’t around. That I was a fuck-face asshole.”

“You’re not a fuck-face asshole,” Pete argued. “You do things to me, just being around you — I don’t know. You make me think.”

“I make you _think_?” Patrick repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, no, maybe you make me _stop_ thinking,” Pete mumbled. “You make me feel _something_ , which is more than most days.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re in love with me,” Patrick sighed, rolling his eyes. Pete laughed.

“Nah man. I’m only gay above the waist.”

“Don’t kiss me. I will literally get up and leave if you kiss me.” 

“Shut up. You know you could never leave me. Besides, I don’t want to kiss you,” Pete grinned. “You’re everything I want out of love minus the romance. And sex.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

“I love you, too,” Pete teased, tracing lines over Patrick’s fingers. 

Patrick gave in finally, cracking a broken smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmured. “Idiot.”

Pete leaned against Patrick, resting his head against his shoulder, still staring across at the rapidly dimming world.

That was one of the things he loved most about Patrick — how huggable he was. He’d gotten substantially bonier in the past few months, but still, he was soft and warm right where Pete needed it so he just didn’t care.

“God, we are so lonely, aren’t we?” Pete breathed, not moving his head at all. He could feel Patrick laugh a little bit against him.

“Yeah, but at least we can be lonely together.”

Pete nodded, sighing softly and tugging his sleeve back down over the scar. They sat there for a while, in silence. It was peaceful, inside and out. 

“I hate feeling helpless,” Pete muttered finally. “I obsess over it.”

“Stop thinking, Pete,” Patrick murmured. 

“I can’t,” Pete whispered. “Never have, never will.”

Patrick didn’t reply, only nestled a little tighter to Pete, as if the movement, the contact, could take Pete out of his mind if just for a second.

“I couldn’t make her love me. I don’t even know if I loved her — did I love her?” Pete pulled his knees to his chest and Patrick thought he looked so much smaller than he used to. He was just a kid, Patrick realized with a jolt. He was just a kid in tough guy skin, who didn’t know what the hell he was doing about anything. 

“I don’t know,” Patrick whispered. 

“I hope I loved her, at one point, at least.” Pete’s voice cracked. “Then maybe I wouldn’t be so much of a psycho dick.”

“Stop thinking,” Patrick pleaded softly, grabbing Pete’s hand. “Please, stop thinking.”

A tear fell down Pete’s cheek and he wiped it away with his shirt sleeve. 

“I already told you,” he smiled brokenly. “I can’t. That’s what happened five years ago, that’s what happened last month.”

“And that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it?” Patrick said softly. He reached for Pete’s hands and just held him, tight, like that, for a while. “I’ve got you, though, I’m here.”

“It hurts, Patrick,” Pete whispered. “It hurts so much, thinking I’m not enough for anybody. I’m not even enough for myself.”

“You are,” Patrick murmured. “You are enough.”

“I don’t even know if I really loved her — I just loved how being loved made me feel,” Pete said, voice shaking. “Which makes me a psycho, it makes me a maniac, doesn’t it?”

“No, baby, it doesn’t,” Patrick whispered. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“I just didn’t want to be alone — I’m always alone! I’m always fucking alone, damnit, it hurts,” Pete choked. 

“Shh, don’t cry,” Patrick said softly. “Please, Pete, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“You’re not enough,” Pete muttered. “Nothing’s enough, nothing’s ever enough! I’m a maniac, I don’t deserve love, I don’t — I don’t —“ he trailed off, lost in his own thoughts and the soft haziness of the city below. “I’m lost,” he whispered finally. “I’m helpless.”

Patrick didn’t reply. He just held tight onto Pete because he knew he was Pete’s anchor, his tether to this world. 

“It’ll get better, right? It has to get better, please tell me it will,” Pete said finally. He sounded scared, and at the end of his rope.

“Of course it will,” Patrick soothed. “Everything will work itself out. Promise.”

Pete nodded. Patrick looked down at him and for a second he reminded him of a lion — head tilted just enough, with that same fighter glint in his eyes. 

Pete would make it through this. Whatever demon lives inside, it was no match for the lion that was Pete, and Patrick knew it. He only wished Pete knew it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!! please leave a comment if u want!


End file.
